by A W Hartoin
She started to open the door and Stella found her voice. “Was anyone else arrested?”
“Yes.” She fluttered her hands. “Go. Go away.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
“The doctor and some others. I don’t know who they are.” She pulled on the angel wing door handle, but Stella put her hand over the nun’s. Her chest was tight and was getting tighter. Had she done it? Was it her fault? “Which doctor? Davide? Salvatore?”
“No, no. You don’t know him. They arrested his wife, too. I don’t know why.”
Stella could barely keep from shouting. “Who is it?”
“The rich one for the tourists. You don’t know him.”
She could barely breathe. “Dr. Spooner?”
Sister Claudia’s eyes went wide. “You know him? You have no money to pay him.”
“I…I…we met through a friend.” Daniel. They might’ve arrested Daniel. “It’s us. It has to be us.”
“You? No. This rich doctor, it is just bad luck that you know him.”
“No, it’s not. It can’t be a coincidence. Where was he when he was arrested?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It does not matter.”
Stella squeezed the nun’s hand. “Trust me. It matters.”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was Father Girotti visiting?”
“A very sick lady. Word came that she was very bad and he went to her,” said Sister Claudia. “Please go now.”
Stella took a breath. “Was it Rosa von Bodmann?”
The nun began shaking so violently that her teeth chattered and she nodded with her hands clamped over her mouth.
“They were arrested at the Vittoria?”
Sister Claudia nodded.
If Peiper knew about Dr. Spooner and his wife, Father Girotti, and the Vittoria, he might know about Daniel or he would shortly. Nicky was going to see Daniel after the first telegraph office.
“I have to go.” She hugged the nun fiercely, tears flooding her eyes. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”
Sister Claudia whispered in her ear, “You did not do this. The hunted are not responsible for the hunt.”
“It is my fault. Please forgive me.”
“You were born forgiven.” She kissed Stella’s cheek.
“A lot has happened since then.”
“Then work for His forgiveness and you will be forgiven. Go now. Save yourself. I feel it is his will.”
“What about you?” asked Stella.
“I know my place and it is here.” Sister Claudia opened the door and Stella went out. She caught one glimpse of the little nun and she was smiling, serene and not shaking. Not one bit.
Stella paced on the dock for a good ten minutes before she flagged down a taxi. Venice was awake again after her damp slumber and absolutely everyone was on the move. Once she explained where she needed to go the captain turned his little craft around and headed for the Grand Canal, but it wasn’t exactly the top speed Stella had requested. She wanted to yell, “Rapido!” at the poor man but knew it would do no good. The narrow canal was clogged with boats of every description from small personal crafts to big ones hauling produce.
She thought it would get better on the Grand Canal, but it didn’t. A boat towing shipping containers was jackknifed in the middle, having barely avoided a collision with another smaller boat. Stella started to wish she’d run to the Bella Luna. It might’ve been faster and she was considering getting off and doing just that when the captain squeaked around the shipping container boat with inches to spare. He turned and grinned at her. She smiled and nodded while suppressing the yell that wanted to erupt from her throat.
Instead, she did the math in her head one more time. Nicky would take a minimum of fifty minutes round trip on the vaporettos, then he’d have to walk to the telegraph office and he wasn’t exactly speedy. Assuming he found nothing out about the Sorkines, he’d be on to Bella Luna. That wasn’t an hour. He wouldn’t be there yet. She could head him off at the dock and decide what to do about Daniel. Sending a note to the butler didn’t seem appropriate, but being seen at the hotel just then wasn’t the best idea either. Would a note be enough? Would Daniel understand the danger? Stella could see Albert’s hands. Roger’s. Peiper was capable of anything. No. They would have to talk to Daniel themselves and convince him to leave with them or just plain leave.
The taxi got caught in another jam at the Rialto bridge and Stella very nearly jumped ship, but the captain got them through quickly with a combination of yelling and rude gestures, which were returned in kind. They zipped under the bridge and in just a few minutes, he turned onto a smaller canal and glided up to the grand hotel to drop her at the door.
She managed to direct him a little farther down so she could get off at the end of the Bella Luna’s courtyard. The captain only shrugged and took her where she wanted to go. She paid him generously and he helped her out before heading back into the fray on the Grand Canal.
Stella made herself small beside the pillar at the end of the courtyard and watched the comings and goings at the hotel. She didn’t remember it ever being that busy, but she probably just wasn’t paying attention. Stella hadn’t paid attention to much before Vienna. She felt like she’d been asleep and had been rudely awakened to find herself in a world that looked the same but definitely wasn’t.
She kept checking her watch. Where was he? He should be there. Five more minutes. He still didn’t come. Maybe she’d missed him. Could he have slipped by her? Come from a direction she didn’t expect? Maybe.
Stella bit her lip and made up her mind. She’d go ahead and warn Daniel. Then she’d station herself at the service entrance. She doubted that Nicky’d go in the front. He was in pain, but he wasn’t crazy. She dashed into the courtyard and splashed around the hotel. Maybe she could talk to Chef Brazier. He’d want to protect Nicky. He might be willing to spare someone to watch the front, just in case.
She turned the last corner and was relieved, then nervous to find the area empty and eerily quiet. Not a single delivery was coming in. No one was out having a cigarette, enjoying a moment in the sun. That seemed unusual, but it didn’t stop her from heading for the recessed door, but the scream that came out of it did.
Stella froze and a second scream pierced the still of the courtyard, this one a high-pitched shriek, like a woman, but it wasn’t a woman. Then other people were yelling, outraged and terrified. A man came stumbling out of the door and tripping over the sandbags. He was battered and bloody. Daniel. He fell to the flooded ground with a splash and Peiper was on top of him, screaming, “Where is he?”
Daniel sputtered, spewing blood in a wide arc.
“I know he was here!” Peiper kicked Daniel in the ribs, eliciting another shriek.
Several carabinieri came out with another man, Chef Brazier. He had bruises on his thin face, but he wasn’t bleeding. Stella didn’t recognize the carabinieri. Bartali wasn’t there. Those men, they weren’t happy, whether it was about what Peiper was doing or Daniel’s not cooperating, she couldn’t tell.
The hotel manager rushed out in a panic. “What do you want? I don’t know what we have done.”
Peiper turned on the manager and the man nearly went down he was so afraid. “I want Nicolas Lawrence.”
“Mr. Lawrence checked out weeks ago. He’s not here.”
Peiper got in the man’s face. “He was here this morning.” Then he pointed at Chef Brazier. “He saw him and sent him to your butler.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hope you don’t,” said a tall carabinieri that came out. He was obviously the highest ranking, going by the number of pins and medals on his uniform. “These Americans are dangerous criminals.”
“The Lawrences aren’t criminals. Mrs. Lawrence is a Bled of the Bled Brewery family.”
The tall carabinieri turned to Peiper. “Is this true?”
“You’ve been ordered to coope
rate with me fully,” said Peiper, gesturing to the door. The boy came out. He had blood on his slender hands. “That woman attacked him. She tried to drown him in the Grand Canal.”
“I don’t understand,” said the manager. “Mrs. Lawrence wouldn’t hurt a child.”
“I’m not a child!” screamed the boy and the manager shrank back.
The carabinieri were looking at their leader, doubt written all over them.
“Perhaps we should bring this man to our office and contact the embassy,” said the tall carabinieri.
Peiper pulled out his weapon and pointed it at Daniel, who was on his knees, sobbing. “Where did he go?”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“You gave him money.” Peiper walked up to Daniel pointing his weapon at his shaking head. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Stella Lawrence?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s not at her hotel. Where would she go?”
Daniel sobbed. “I don’t know.”
The tall carabinieri stepped up. “That is enough. If the man knew this information, he would’ve told you.”
“It’s not enough!” screamed Peiper. “Where are they?”
“Stop this.” The carabinieri reached for the weapon and Peiper fired. Blood sprayed from Daniel’s head and he fell backward into the water. Stella was screaming. She could hear it coming out of her but was powerless to stop it. The carabinieri fought with Peiper. Chef Brazier tried to break away. The boy. He turned. He saw her.
“There she is!” he yelled.
She turned and ran with more screams ringing out behind her.
Chapter Twenty-one
STELLA DIDN’T GET far. She reached the corner of the hotel and a hand reached out, snatching her off her feet. A man tried to bear hug her and drag her away, but she stomped on his foot. He bellowed and, when his grip relaxed for a split second, she threw her elbow back, connecting with his face. She got a glimpse of rage and blood before sprinting away.
She expected him to be hard on her heels and she ran as fast as her galoshes would allow. The man was big, not as tall as Nicky, but tall enough that he should be able to catch her easily, but she didn’t hear splashing behind her. Instead, a scream in German burst out and echoed around the narrow passage she’d darted into.
“Schieße!” The voice was young, angry, and shocked. Peiper’s boy.
Something had happened. She could get away.
Stella ran into a crowded street filled with shoppers, out for the first time in days. She tried to squeeze by them but ended up running headlong into baskets laden with fruit, bread, and cheese. People screamed at her, grabbing at her arms and handbag and shouting for the carabinieri. She didn’t stop and shoved when she had to shove.
As she ran, a screech of pain burst out behind her. She glanced back and caught a glimpse of the boy bowling over an elderly woman and tumbling to his knees. Attention turned from Stella to him.
“Thank you,” Stella whispered as she took a hard right and left the shopping street, leaving the shouts and complaints behind.
She had no idea where she was until she hit a small bridge. She remembered it and the small canal. It was directly behind the hotel. She could get to the Grand Canal now and maybe grab a taxi.
When she reached the other side, she heard a gasp. Looking over her shoulder as she ran she saw the boy hitting the bridge. The slippery little bastard had gotten away.
“Halte sie auf!” yelled a man. Peiper.
The boy came charging after her, but he was bloody and limping. Stella ran into a main street, darting this way and that, hoping that she was choosing wisely and not leading herself right back at them. Her lungs were burning the same as her feet, but she didn’t stop or even slow down. She couldn’t. The pain didn’t matter.
Then she heard a clamor in the distance. Engines, whistles, and the general buzz of people. The Grand Canal. It had to be. She ran for the noise. There was safety in numbers. Perhaps she could get lost in the crowd.
She emerged onto Campo San Silvestro and found a little market had popped up. She weaved through the stalls and thought she had lost the boy and Peiper until she heard a shout of outrage behind her. She was careful this time not to shove or do anything to give herself away and ran through easily without a single applecart upset.
Running off the square, she was so close to the vaporetto stop she could hear the engine revving. Was the vaporetto coming in to the stop or leaving? Stella didn’t know what she was hoping for. She just ran.
There it was. A vaporetto, pointing left and leaving the dock. Stella put on speed. She didn’t think. Not one single thought went through her head. She just reacted, racing down to the end of the dock and jumping for the boat’s gateway. She didn’t notice the chain that had been strung across it and, when she jumped, she hit it. The chain took her out at the knees. She struck a passenger first and then the deck with her outstretched arms. Her push thrust the passenger, a sizable man, into the other passengers, taking them down like bowling pins. Everyone was screaming, including Stella. The pain seared through her arms and knees, but she scrambled to her feet, gasping and looking back. There he was, the boy, running on the dock. Just when she thought he couldn’t possibly do anything to catch her, he launched himself at the side of the vaporetto.
The boy banged into the solid side but managed to grab onto the railing. He dangled off the side, yelling an odd collection of German and English curse words. Stella ran over, their eyes met and she had a moment. Just one small moment of doubt, but then she did what she never imagined she’d do to a child. She hammered his fingers with her fists. He screamed and slipped. She almost had him off. Almost. People grabbed her from behind, dragging her away.
“No!” she screamed. “He’s dangerous!”
Stella got pulled off her feet as they dragged her backward and two men in work clothes hoisted the boy over the side. He collapsed onto the deck, screeching in rage and clutching his hands to his chest. Stella fought the people holding her and struggled to her feet. A woman rammed into her, screaming and pointing off the vaporetto. Behind them on the dock, Peiper yelled and pointed a pistol at them. Everyone went down. Everyone, except the boy. He jumped to his feet and pulled a small handgun. The passengers panicked, scrambling away from him and dragging Stella along in the crush.
Stella frantically looked for an escape, maybe off the bow. But that’s where every other passenger was going. The door to the helm was open and people got shoved in with the captain. The engine revved to a painful level and the vaporetto turned sharply to the right. It was fast, so fast that people were thrown across the deck into the railing. Several went tumbling over, screaming into the canal. A huge impact listed the boat farther and Stella thought for a moment that the vaporetto would flip over. She slid across the deck, ramming into screaming people, not three feet from the boy, who fired into the ceiling, sending splinters raining down on them.
Then the vaporetto violently flipped back upright, throwing everyone from the railing to the deck. Stella fought to get on her feet, but two more impacts knocked her down. More people went over. The captain was hitting the horn. There was a tremendous grinding bang and black smoke flooded the deck. Someone screamed, “Fuoco!”
Stella didn’t have a clue what that was, but from the panic that ensued she knew it wasn’t a good thing. She scrambled for the opposite railing. The boy saw her and fired again. For a second, she thought he must’ve hit her. He was so close, not five feet. But a woman beside her screeched and collapsed. The workmen went for the boy, but he pointed his weapon at them. Stella reached the railing and looked out at a traffic jam of epic proportions. The vaporetto turning into the canal’s traffic so suddenly had caused a chain reaction. It was a sea of accidents. Looking back she knew what “Fuoco” was. Fire. Flames were shooting off the back of the vaporetto and spewing the noxious black smoke. It rolled over them in waves.
She could see the boy and then she couldn’t.
Stella spotted Peiper climbing onto a boat and then another, using them as stepping stones to get to them. Behind him was another man and, if anything, he was angrier than Peiper. Blood coated the lower half of his face and his nose was crooked sideways. He had to be the man who grabbed her. Stella wasn’t sure who she was more afraid of. All she knew was that she had to get off that boat.
She turned back and climbed over the railing. If she jumped far enough, she could make it onto the small deck of a taxi. If not, she’d be in the water.
“Please help me,” she prayed as she took a flying leap.
Stella hit the bow of the taxi. It was wet and slippery. She would’ve slid right off if her arm hadn’t hit the flood lamp on the tip of the bow. She grabbed it and kept herself out of the water. The captain was screaming at her. She got her feet under her and her galoshes came in handy. Their sticky rubber got her traction and she stood up in time to see the boy get to the vaporetto railing. He aimed his weapon at her and the captain stopped screaming at her and ducked. Stella leapt at the next boat deck and the boy fired. It struck the taxi or so she assumed from the captain’s yelling. She leapt from boat to boat across the Grand Canal with the boy behind her, but he was slow, his leg injured. She kept moving, jumping this way and that. The boy fired again and again, missing her. She hoped, despite the screams, that he didn’t hit anyone else, but she couldn’t stop to look.
She reached a gondola with a crouching gondolier in the passenger cabin, leapt onto its bow, and ran down the length of it as the boy fired twice more, hitting a pylon and pinging off the gondola a foot ahead of her. She jumped from the gondola to the dock and ran down the length of it, searching for the exit. In her panic, she passed it and had to climb over the fencing and landed painfully on her hip. The boy fired again. The bullet splintered the fence and grazed her shoulder. She clamped a hand over the wound and clambered to her feet, running for a small alley, but it was the wrong way. She had to get to the train station. The Rialto. That was the closest bridge. It wasn’t far. She could make it.